Show Me Love
by Nuwanda
Summary: After so long of denying himself the one thing he truly longs for, Gawain is offered a chance at the man that he wants. But can he overcome the nagging knowledge that he isn’t the one that Lancelot really wants? Slashed one-shot


**A/N:  **Well, here we go, I move on to more classic British literature and corrupt it.  siiiiigh  Such is me and my odd, odd self.  Well, I just saw King Arthur with my beloved friend Erika, mainly b/c it had all the elements we love:  swords, fighting, gorgeous men, scantily clad women (well, maybe only _I_ love that), lots of blood and accents and, c'mon, it's KING ARTHUR!  I was only RAISED on stories of him and his knights of the round table!  I only grew up wanting to be Lancelot!  Now, after seeing him played by my loverboy of about six years, Ioann Gruffudd, I realize that I don't want to _be _Lancelot, I just wanna do illicit things with him.  Yes, Erika and I both love Ioann, better known as Horatio since his wonderful performances as Horatio Hornblower for A&E, in which he's splendid and sexy and adorable and I love him.  Both of us are very nervous about this King Arthur movie, b/c we know that now everyone will discover how beautiful and talented he is and will start obsessing over him, and we've loved him sooooooo much longer, and it's just not fair!  On the other hand, we love him so much that we want him to do well and become successful, so we're reluctantly sacrificing our sole claim to him for the common good.  Yeah, we're generous, huh?  ;D 

            Anyway, the movie was just so VERY full of the pretty, between Ioann, Gawain (dear LORD!  The hair!  The eyes!  I'm smitten!), Tristan (who I am very much attracted to…between the voice and the hair and his rugged, rough around the edges look, I just swoon), and even Galahad and Arthur himself are pretty good looking.  So I decided that Lancelot, Gawain and Tristan needed to have a threesome…so don't be surprised if that fic turns up in the near future…yeah, run away now, while you still can!  RUN AWAAAAAAAAY!  Ahem.  Sorry.  Do believe I channeled the Monty Python version of Arthur for just a second there.  Yeah.  So, anyway, enjoy this fic.  It started going in one direction…mainly towards blatant sex between Lancelot and Gawain…and it turned into something much different…something more emotional.  I think it's better this way, but…  shrug  …I'll let you decide.

**SUMMARY:  **After so long of denying himself the one thing he truly longs for, Gawain is offered a chance at the man that he wants.  But can he overcome the nagging knowledge that he isn't the one that Lancelot really wants?  Slash, Lancelot/Gawain, with hinting towards Lancelot/Arthur.  One-shot.

**DISCLAIMER:  **I do not own any part of King Arthur, nor do I own any of the actors or characters, (though I wish I owned all of them, especially Ioann, Tristan and Gawain!  And give me a few hours with Kiera Knightly in that leather and body paint ensemble of hers….oooooh _yeah_!  smacks self  Bad fanfic author!  No slash for you!

I also do not own tAtU, nor their song "Show Me Love," which is quite splendid.  That is all.

**DEDICATION:  **To **Erika**, who I saw this with.  "I wanna be a shark!"  "I wanna be a bull!"  "…I wanna be YIDDISH!"  _TOO FUNNY_! 

To **Mads**** Mickkelsen**, the lovely man who played Tristan so splendidly!  Tristan, you were everything I could want in a man!  You were crazy, you had a falcon, you were obsessed with shiny things, and you rode into battle wearing a feminine Yiddish war helmet.  In short, you're just plain crazy, and I love ya! 

To **Ioann**, my beloved British man whom I have loved for so many years now!  You are sassy as Horatio, in Soloman and Gaenor, in 102 Dalmations (even though it SUCKED), and you are SASSY AS FUCK in this!  kow tows  In short, you are just plain splendid, and I love you!

Now…on to the fic!

This was an accident, not the kind were sorrow sounds,  
Never even noticed were suddenly crumbling.  
Tell me how you've never, felt delicate or innocent,  
Do u still have doubts that us having faith makes any sense.  
Tell me nothing ever comes rationale or breaking down.  
Still somebody loses cause theirs no way to turn around,  
Staring at your photograph everything now in the past  
Never felt so lonely I wish that you could show me love.  
  
Random acts of mindlessness, common place occurrences,  
Chances of surprises, another state of consciousness'  
Tell me nothing ever comes rationale or breaking down  
Still somebody loses cause theirs no way to turn around,  
Tell me how you've never felt delicate or innocent,  
Do you still have doubts that us having faith makes any sense,  
You play games I play tricks, girls and girls but you're the one,  
Like a game of pick up sticks played by fucking lunatics.

Never felt so lonely I wish that you could show me love.

Gawain sat in the cold night air, shivering as the snowflakes fell about him, dancing in the biting breeze.  He wrapped his blanket a bit tighter about him, snuggling into the small bit of warmth it offered.  A strong fire was crackling in the center of the clearing, but he wasn't willing to sacrifice his privacy for a few precious degrees of heat.  Glancing over towards the fire, he allowed his eyes to trace across all the people there, warming themselves in the toasty glow.  Arthur sat the closest, looking pensive as he stared into the flames.  Guinevere was nearby, sneaking furtive glances at Arthur when she thought no one was looking.  The beautiful newcomer was obviously hoping to catch the eye (and the affection) of the moody and handsome leader, but Gawain knew that Arthur's affection was already as good as promised to another.  That other was sitting as far from Arthur and Guinevere as he could get.

            Lancelot sat with Bors and Galahad, yet it seemed despite their laughter and loud voices that he was quite alone.  He was part of the group, yet he was isolated, and Gawain thought he knew the reason why.  Those deep, dark brown eyes were staring into space; brooding, Gawain believed, on Guinevere and her obvious interest in Arthur.

            For as long as Gawain could remember, Lancelot had fancied Arthur, and it soon became obvious that his affections were not unrequited.  Whilst entering the stables one day, Gawain had heard noise in front of him and froze dead at the sight before his eyes: Arthur and Lancelot, close enough to kiss, whispering softly to each other.  Gawain had quickly stepped back into the shadows, out of sight.

            "I shouldn't be here," Arthur had said softly, twining his fingers through Lancelot's dark, curly hair.  Lancelot had smiled, confidant that Arthur was going nowhere.

            "But you're not going to leave," he had responded, just as confidently as he looked.  "You're going to stay with me."

            "Lancelot-"

            "Because you love me," Lancelot had continued, unfazed by Arthur's interruption.  Arthur had sighed and looked at his boots, shuffling his feet amidst the straw that covered the dirt floor.  "…don't you?"  The question sounded normal enough, and the voice that asked it had been steady, but there was a slight hint of uncertainty to it that Gawain wasn't sure Arthur had picked up on.

            Arthur looked up, looking Lancelot in the eye.  "You're impossible," he said, scowling.

            "Yes," Lancelot agreed.  "I am.  But…" and he reached out and stroked fingers down Arthur's rough, unshaven cheek, the gesture full of a caring and a love that left Gawain stunned.  "…you didn't answer my question."

            "I didn't know it_ was_ one."  But it was obvious even to Gawain that Arthur was stalling, and the man looked at his boots once again.  Undaunted, Lancelot slid two slim fingers beneath Arthur's chin, tilting the man's face up so that those beautiful eyes were forced to lock with his own.

            "Yes, you did, Arthur…and yes, it is.  So answer it."

            Arthur stared into Lancelot's deep brown eyes and felt emotion swelling in him.  "Yes," he whispered, finally.  "Yes…I do love you."

            A smile spread quickly across Lancelot's face, curving his lips up in that wonderful way that was all his own.  He pulled Arthur to him, fingers clenching in the man's collar, kissing Arthur with all he had. 

            And Gawain, watching from his place in the shadows, felt his heart melting at the pure and simple love that he saw before him.

            Sitting in his secluded spot in the dark grove of trees, Gawain thought back on that day in the stables and felt his heart ache a little, ache with feelings that he quickly pushed back.  _You needn't bother wishing for that,_ he told himself sternly, _it's never going to happen._

_            Still…I suppose there's nothing wrong with looking…_

            But when he turned back, the face he sought was no longer there.  Gawain felt surprised…how had he lost track of the man in the few short moments of reminiscence?  Then a hand clapped on his shoulder and he was on his feet in an instant, spinning around and coming face to face with…

            "Lancelot!"

            …the face he had sought.  That face was merely inches away from him now, bearing that brazen smirk that Gawain had come to know and love.  Lancelot's dark hair was tousled and snow-covered, and his dark eyes were filled with amusement.

            "Jumpy, are we, Gawain?"

            Gawain smiled.  "Well, you can't expect me to be anything _but_ jumpy when you pop out of nowhere, not when you've got a face as ugly as you do!"

            Lancelot threw back his head and laughed.  "Shouldn't talk if I were you, Gawain, m'dear...not when you haven't shaved or cut your hair in a few months."

            A protective hand flew to the long blonde hair.  "S'not that bad," Gawain said defensively.

            "I'm joking, I'm joking," Lancelot assured him, sighing in mock-exasperation.  "Besides, you've no reason to get upset.  I know that you know that your hair is pretty."  And Lancelot reached out a hand and tugged on an exceptionally long lock of Gawain's golden hair.  Gawain swatted at his hand.

            "Hands off!"

            "Calm down, I'm not hurting you!"  But Lancelot withdrew, much to Gawain's disappointment.  "You object to me playing with your pretty hair?"

            Gawain was too surprised to think straight.  _Pretty…hair?_"Not…as such," he managed.  Lancelot smiled.

            "Good…because I like it…" And, stepping forward, Lancelot ran his fingers through Gawain's hair, almost reverently.  Then, the fingers moved, tracing across Gawain's rough cheek.  Gawain felt his eyes sliding shut at the teasing caress.

            "Lancelot," he breathed.  The fingers traced down his cheek, under his chin, and then vanished.  Gawain, feeling his heart ache with disappointment, opened his eyes and came face to face with the surprise of his life: Lancelot's face less than an inch away, and then Lancelot was kissing him.

            Gawain's eyes widened with the initial shock of Lancelot's mouth against his own, then his eyes slid shut and he let out a soft sound of contentment at the softness of Lancelot's lips, at the way they moved so well with his own, at the way Lancelot's fingers tangled in his hair, tugging Gawain closer to him.

            When Lancelot pulled away, Gawain had to resist the urge to tug the man back to him.  Opening his eyes, he found Lancelot still rather close to him, mouth shut and eyes very serious as he waited for Gawain's reaction.  Gawain was at a loss for words.

            "…wow," he managed.  Lancelot smiled.

            "Is that a good wow or a bad wow?" he asked, the corners of his mouth curving up just ever so slightly, that smirking smile that Gawain loved so much, that smile that he always wanted to kiss.  This time, for the first time, he did.

            "A bit of both, really," he murmured.  Lancelot, who had been smiling after the second kiss, frowned in puzzlement.

            "…how is it both?" he asked. 

            Gawain did one thing he never thought to find himself doing: unconsciously mimicking the Arthur of months before, he found himself staring at his boots, watching them become covered with tiny snowflakes, regarding the way the soft black leather looked against all that white snow.  And like the Arthur of months before, he found himself suddenly with Lancelot's fingers under his chin, tilting his face up, and he found himself staring into Lancelot's dark brown eyes.

            "…how is it both?" Lancelot asked again, face very serious.

"It…it was good…because…I wanted it."  Gawain was sure he was flushing red.  Lancelot smiled the slightest of smiles, but his brow was still furrowed with confusion.

"Then how is it bad?" he asked.

"I…it was good, Lancelot…but…but…" Gawain was finding it difficult to speak the words.  His gaze returned to his boots and he felt Lancelot stir, quite on edge with apprehension.

"…_but_…what?" Lancelot prompted.  Gawain took a deep breath, steeling up his courage.

            "…but I can't be what you want," he said finally.  He looked Lancelot square in the eye.  "…I can't be Arthur for you, Lancelot."

            Lancelot looked stunned, as though Gawain had run him through with a sword.  His deep brown eyes were wide with surprise.  Surprise…and hurt.  He shook his head, slowly.  "It's not like that," he whispered.

            "It's exactly like that, Lancelot," Gawain sighed.  "I know how you feel for him…and how he feels for you."

            Lancelot shook his head more wildly, a complete refusal to listen to or believe anything Gawain was saying.  "No," he said firmly, "you don't know anything.  You don't know what you're talking about. There is nothing between us.  _Nothing._"

            Gawain laughed hollowly.  "Nothing between you?  _Lancelot!_  I _saw_ you!  I saw the two of you together in the stable half a year ago!"

            Lancelot froze, the look on his face one of horrified surprise.  "…_what_?!"  There was nothing but silence and the wind through the trees as Lancelot thought back on that day and all that had happened…and his cheeks flushed.  "How much did you see?"

            "Not much…just the two of you talking…kissing…that's it."

            "You swear it?" Lancelot's voice was harsh in suspicious anger.  Gawain nodded.

            "I swear it."

            "…did you see anything else?  Any other time?"

            After a pause, Gawain nodded reluctantly.  "Little things…never much, though.  I…" he could sense Lancelot's shock and embarrassment, and he rushed to explain.  "I walked in on you a few times…just kissing," he assured hurriedly, "nothing else…so…I shut the door…and sat outside…to make sure no one else walked in on you."

            The pause this time was not suspicious at all, but was long and surprised.  Lancelot stared at Gawain with stunned eyes.  "…you sat…outside the door."

"Yes."

"…the whole time?"

"…yes."

"…Why would you do that?" Lancelot whispered.  Gawain shrugged uncomfortably.

            "I…you just…you looked so…_happy_."  Ignoring Lancelot's surprise, Gawain pushed on.  "You always seem happy, but when I saw you with him, you just looked…at home.  Like you were truly yourself when you were with him.  You're never yourself around us…you're always hiding something.  It's like you put up a blockade against us and don't let us get close.  But when you were with him…you looked so peaceful…at home."  Before Lancelot could say anything (if he was even planning on saying anything), Gawain rushed on.  "And Arthur, he looked so…relaxed.  Like he didn't have to worry about anything…about war or Roman authorities or the complaints of his men…like he was happy, too…truly happy."

            "…you really mean that?" Lancelot's voice sounded unsure, more like a confused little boy and less like the vicious and skilled fighter that Gawain knew, nothing like the confidant Lancelot.  He nodded.

            "Every word.  The two of you belong together, Lancelot…it's as simple as that."

            There was another long pause; Lancelot stared dazedly into the night sky, then shook his head stubbornly.  "No.  He doesn't want me anymore.  He wants this…this Woag…this…" he paused, eyes darkening with anger.  "…this _Guinevere_."

            Galahad shook his head.  "No.  No, Lancelot, that's not true.  He likes her, certainly, and he admires her spirit, and he may care for her as a daughter or a sister, or yes, maybe even as a bit more, but it's you that he truly loves.  It's _you_."

            "…do…do you really think so?"

            "Yes…I do.  Because however spirited she may be, her spirit is nothing to rival you.  You are the most passionate person I know, Lancelot."  Gawain found all his true inner feelings spilling forth and he was completely powerless to stop it.  "You're caring, and once someone gains your affection they can't easily lose it.  Once you decide to protect someone, you're in it for the long haul.  You don't give up on people easily; don't give up easily in general.  You are a strong, loving person, Lancelot, and anyone who doesn't love you is crazy, absolutely stark raving _mad_!"

            Gawain fell silent as he realized he had said too much, but he feared it was too late.  Lancelot was staring at him with a dawning comprehension, a recognition that he hadn't looked at Gawain with ever before.  Gawain looked away, and Lancelot cleared his throat.  "Er…thank you," he said, not sure what to say.  "But…that's not me, really.  I'm a waste…I'm utter bollocks.  I'm stubborn, and I care for people too much, and I get angry about stupid little things on their behalf.  I'm much too violently protective of my friends…much too violent in general, really…"

            "Lancelot-"

            "You're the really impressive one, honestly," Lancelot continued, as though Gawain had said nothing.  "You're nicer than I am, you never lose your temper…even with Bors, and that's impressive.  You take care of Tristan during his addle minded spells…you always know how to break up fights and _always_ know the right thing to say to Arthur when he gets in his depressed states…I just yell at him and mess up entirely and he won't speak to me for days.  Really…don't know why he doesn't go after you…don't know why all of us don't."

            Without warning, Gawain drew his sword, too fast for Lancelot to react, so great was his surprise at Gawain drawing a weapon on him.  Gawain brought the sword up quickly, stopping the sword just before the flat of the blade would have connected with Lancelot's face.  Lancelot found himself staring at the watery but obvious reflection of himself shining back from the broad blade.

            "That's why," Gawain said quietly.  "Because we have you."  And with that, he sheathed the sword.

            Not knowing what possessed him, Lancelot found his fingers twisting in the fabric of Gawain's shirt, tugging the blonde man towards him and kissing Gawain once again.  Gawain struggled to resist, but found it hard to do when Lancelot was kissing him with such insistence, with such skill and determination.  Despite himself, he found his fingers tangling in Lancelot's thick brown hair.  He intended to pull Lancelot off of him, but Lancelot's fingers traced down his cheeks and he found himself unable to fight at all. 

            Lancelot backed Gawain up until the blonde man found his back against a tree, then, with an unspoken understanding between them, they slid to the ground, never breaking the kiss. 

            The two men ended up in a tangled heap, fingers fumbling with the catches on clothing, the buttons and ties and the many heavy layers of fabric.  Trembling hands swept soft caresses across sweat-dampened skin, mouths rarely parting for more than a few breathless seconds.  It was a quick affair, sweaty hands groping for each other in the cold, dark night.

            A short while later, Gawain and Lancelot lay sprawled in the snow, arms tangled about each other, Gawain's long hair tracing graceful patterns in the snow, blending nicely with Lancelot's dark curls.  Rolling to his side, Lancelot traced a slim finger down Gawain's cheek.  "I do love you, you know," he said softly.  Gawain met his eyes, arching one slim blonde eyebrow.

            "Do you?" he asked.  Lancelot nodded.

            "It's…different…than what I feel for Arthur…but…I do love you."

            Gawain rolled his eyes, looking away from Lancelot.  "Yeah, you love me, the same way you love Bors and Galahad and Tristan and-"

            "No."  Lancelot cut Gawain off, placing a finger over the other man's lips.  "It's different than that, too.  I don't love them the way I do you.  I…I don't know how to put it into words…and I apologize for that.  And I apologize that this happened.  It shouldn't have…because I know that it's not fair to you, because I _do _still love Arthur, and I know it may seem as though I used you…but that's not it.  It's so hard to _explain_, Gawain…I wish I could explain it better.  All I can do is tell you that I love you, and apologize for my stupidity in all of this."

            "No," Gawain said, shaking his head and turning to face Lancelot again.  "You have nothing to apologize for.  I _know_ that you love Arthur…I've known it since the first time I saw you two together.  I knew that…and still I went along with all of this.  I didn't push you away when you kissed me, because I wanted it.  Because…" he broke off, trying hard not to look away, to hold Lancelot's gaze despite the sadness in those beautiful dark eyes.  "…because I love you.  And I have loved you for so long now."

            Lancelot felt an aching in his heart that he felt he couldn't bear.  "Gawain," he whispered.  "I'm such a complete prat.  I'm dirt, I'm _nothing_!  I can't believe that you can't hate me for acting in this bestial way towards you!"

            "Lancelot, there is nothing to hate you _for_!"  Gawain propped himself up on one elbow, one arm draped over Lancelot's chest.  "I knew all along that the love you feel for me is not close to what you feel for Arthur, and still I went through with this…because I love you…and a little of your love is enough for me.  I'm just honored that you…that someone like you…that you love me, even the littlest bit."  He stared into Lancelot's wide dark eyes, brown eyes meeting green.  "I'm honored that you love me at all."

            Lancelot pulled Gawain down to him and kissed him.  "You deserve so much better than me," he said softly, twirling a strand of Gawain's long blonde hair through his fingers.  "And someday, you will find someone who appreciates fully what a glorious piece of work you are…someone who deserves you…the way that I don't."

            Gawain tried to protest, but Lancelot silenced him with a single finger to his lips.  Gawain couldn't help but smile, but it was short lived as a shiver wracked his body.  "It's cold," Lancelot said, "too cold to lie about in the snow with naught on but our skin."

            "Yeah," Gawain agreed, rising to his feet.  "Whose bright idea was this, anyway?" he teased, bending over to pick up his clothing.  Lancelot gave his bare backside a sharp swat.  "HEY!"

            "You deserved it."  Lancelot tugged his pants on hurriedly, before Gawain could return the favor. Both men pulled on shirts and armor, adjusting straps and buckles here and there.  As Gawain tightened his belt, Lancelot swept the heavy cape about the other man's shoulders, tying it on for him.

            "Thank you."

            "Don't mention it."  Lancelot tightened his own cape and slid the two swords into their scabbards on his back.  "So…" he looked at Gawain.  "…no hard feelings then?"  His voice was nervous, uncertain.  "You sure you don't hate me?"

            Gawain stared back, a small smile gracing his lips.  "I couldn't hate you if I tried."

            That smile curved across Lancelot's lips, and he took Gawain's hand, raising it to his lips and kissing it, a long, lingering kiss as his dark eyes stared into Gawain's green ones.  Gawain would normally have flushed under a look like that, but now he felt no embarrassment at all.  He and Lancelot had shared something special, something unique.  A part of Lancelot belonged to him now, he realized, and a part of him belonged to Lancelot.  _Though he could have had part of me any time he wanted, _he thought silently, and with some amusement.  He realized suddenly that things would never be the same between them. 

            Lancelot, still holding Gawain's hand, led the blonde man back to the clearing, releasing his hand just before they stepped into the light.  Lancelot sat down next to Bors again, Gawain plopping down beside him.

            "And where've you two been, hmmm?" Bors said teasingly.  Lancelot cast a sly look at Gawain.

            "Oh, we just went off to the woods to get a bit of private time," he said, managing to be loud and conspiratorial at the same time, as was his skill.  Guinevere and even Arthur glanced his way, ears pricking up at Lancelot's bold and obviously sexual words.  "You know…I've just been dying to get alone with Gawain since we started this trip," he sighed, shaking his head.  "Didn't think I could take it any longer…hadn't fucked him in months!"

            Bors spit out his mouthful of spirits, laughing hysterically, and Galahad looked properly scandalized, but he was smiling.  "_LANCELOT_!" Galahad exclaimed, trying not to look amused and failing miserably.  "You're _terrible_!"

            Lancelot grinned.  "No…I'm just a man…and one who knows a good piece of ass when he sees it."  He glanced at Gawain, who shook his head, also trying to look as though he wasn't amused.  Lancelot winked conspiratorially, and Gawain couldn't help but smile.  Lancelot was incorrigible, as he always had been, but now, it was different.  Now everything was different…and it always would be.

            _Yes, things will never be the same, _Gawain thought to himself, staring into Lancelot's dark eyes, staring at that brazen smirk and knowing his face mirrored it (at least to some extent).  _They'll be a hundred times _better!

fin


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